It’s not just his eyes that are striking. He’s so handsome that it’s almost impossible, with a strong, square jaw and high cheekbones. He has dark hair, though, slicked back. I’d call him movie-star handsome if it weren’t for the powerful presence in his face and body— the way he stands, and the show of athleticism I just saw when he skied in. This man is no pretty boy, and just standing still I feel like he’s taking up all the space in the room. The building. And he’s tall. I’m in heels, and I have to look up to meet his eyes.

He’s also breathing fast from his run down the mountain, and the strange whorl of snowy cold and heat coming from him is just more unsettling. I catch a clean scent of spicy soap and snow on the air, too. Out of nowhere, I feel a strange pull in my chest, like I want to step closer even as I feel a tingle of caution along the back of my neck. The way it feels to approach something animal and caged.

“You’re Darcy? Rina sent you?” His voice is disconcertingly deep.

I blush and start when he says my name. I don’t even know why. I was half-expecting this gorgeous guy to keep walking out of the room, but he stands there looking at me, one eyebrow raised. And then he holds out his hand to shake mine.

And it finally clicks for me that this is James Harrington. The Ice King. My client.